Rewriting Our Stories Luke 19:1-10 Rev. Dr. Rhonda Abbott Blevins February 1, 2026

He entered Jericho and was passing through it. A man was there named Zacchaeus; he was a chief tax collector and was rich. He was trying to see who Jesus was, but on account of the crowd he could not, because he was short in stature. So he ran ahead and climbed a sycamore tree to see him, because he was going to pass that way. When Jesus came to the place, he looked up and said to him, “Zacchaeus, hurry and come down; for I must stay at your house today.” So he hurried down and was happy to welcome him. All who saw it began to grumble and said, “He has gone to be the guest of one who is a sinner.” Zacchaeus stood there and said to the Lord, “Look, half of my possessions, Lord, I will give to the poor; and if I have defrauded anyone of anything, I will pay back four times as much.” Then Jesus said to him, “Today salvation has come to this house, because he too is a son of Abraham. For the Son of Man came to seek out and to save the lost.”

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Today we continue our series “Forever Beginning: Stories of Fresh Starts.” We’ve watched disciples leave their boats, Nicodemus come seeking in the night, the prodigal son come home to grace, and a woman at a well discover that an ordinary moment can transform everything. Today we meet a man whose entire story gets rewritten in a single encounter with Jesus.

Zacchaeus was a wee little man,
And a wee little man was he.
He climbed up in a sycamore tree
For the Lord he wanted to see.
And as the Savior passed that way
He looked up in the tree,
And he said, “Zacchaeus, you come down,
For I’m going to your house today,
I’m going to your house today!

I love this little children’s song! But one problem with this song is we don’t learn what a scoundrel Zacchaeus is, or how profoundly his story gets rewritten.

When we meet Zacchaeus in the Gospel of Luke, he is a tax collector. This means that he is a Jew, but he works for the Roman oppressors. He is a traitor against his own people. Tax collectors at this time are reviled because they collect taxes from their people to return to Rome, but they can demand any amount they want. They are known for keeping an unjust cut for themselves before returning to Rome what Rome requires.

Jericho, at the time of today’s story, is an urban center with many travelers passing through. Travelers are taxed upon entering the city and again as they leave. Zacchaeus is a chief tax collector. Not only does he get a cut of the taxes he personally collects, but he gets a cut of all the taxes collected from those who work under him. Not surprisingly, Zacchaeus is rich. He has made his wealth off the backs of the poor. He knows this, and so does everyone in Jericho.

Everyone in town knows Zacchaeus’s story. And it’s not a good story. He’s the villain. He’s the sellout. He’s the greedy collaborator who has gotten rich by betraying his own people. That’s his story. That’s what everyone knows about him. That’s who he is.

Or is it?

Jesus is passing through Jericho on his way to Jerusalem. Jesus wasn’t the only one passing through, as thousands of Jews would be passing through on their way to celebrate Passover in Jerusalem. The streets are crowded as Jesus and his growing band of disciples make their way through the city. Jesus’ reputation precedes him—he is becoming quite well known as a teacher and healer. Zacchaeus, like others along Jesus’ path, is curious to catch a glimpse. Maybe he tries to move to the front of the crowd—but the crowd, in their disdain of him, will have nothing of it. Zacchaeus is curious enough to become childlike—to abandon his pride to climb a tree to get a bird’s eye view of this prophet passing through his hometown.

You know the story. Jesus calls out to Zacchaeus across the crowd. Maybe you like to think of Jesus just knowing who Zacchaeus is because in his divinity he just knows things. I tend to think others pointed out this notorious figure to Jesus: “Jesus, look! (Snidely) It’s Zacchaeus, the chief tax collector.” However Jesus knows who Zacchaeus is, Jesus once again does something incredibly unexpected. He honors this reviled man by speaking to him. And not only that, Jesus chooses Zacchaeus to host him in his home. Fine, upstanding individuals would surely love this privilege, but Jesus chooses to hang with a reprobate.

Isn’t that just like the Lord?

Here’s what intrigues me about this story:

·         The crowd had written Zacchaeus’s story—villain, traitor, thief. Jesus saw a different story.

·         The crowd kept Zacchaeus locked into who he had been. Jesus saw who he could become.

·         The crowd’s story for Zacchaeus was finished, complete, unchangeable. Jesus offered him a chance to begin again.

Because Jesus sees something in Zacchaeus that the others can’t see—because Jesus offers him a new story—the (perhaps) wealthiest man in town gives half of his wealth to the poor. Not only that, he pays back those he had cheated four times what he took from them.

Zacchaeus is transformed, and his story is completely rewritten. He goes from collaborator to benefactor. From exploiter to restorer of justice. From isolated and despised to welcomed and transformed. And countless individuals benefit from his new story. All it takes is Jesus seeing him not for who he had been, but for who he truly was underneath it all, and who he could become.

We all carry stories that others have written for us. Maybe you were labeled early in life—the troublemaker, the black sheep, the failure, the disappointing one. Maybe you made mistakes that defined you in other people’s eyes. Maybe you’ve been carrying shame for so long you’ve forgotten what it feels like to be seen differently.

One of my favorite cousins celebrated ten years sober recently. This is a huge milestone for him, as he struggled with addiction since the age of fourteen (he’s sixty now). He had one period in his life when he was sober for a time. He became very involved in the Methodist Church during that time, and believed God was calling him into the ministry. He became what the Methodists call a “local church pastor”—a designation for someone who leads a church without having completed a seminary education or gone through the Methodist ordination hoops. He took seminary classes during the week while he led a small church.

But along the way, while he was pastoring this church, the demons of his addiction came calling once again. He relapsed. And during this time, while in active addiction and leading a church, his struggles began to be known among some colleagues.

When he was at a meeting with other pastors, one pastor came up to him to encourage him. The words he said left a lasting impression on my cousin, as he recently told me this story some two decades later. You want to know the words the other pastor said to my cousin that were so powerful to him both then and now? Here goes: “Stan, I’m in your bleachers.”

I’m in your bleachers. Not judging from a distance. Not writing you off. Not defining you by your worst moment. I’m cheering for you. I believe in you. I see a different story for you than the one you’re living right now.

That pastor refused to let my cousin’s story be written by his addiction, by his failure, by his shame. And decades later, my cousin is ten years sober, still telling the story of the person who saw something more in him.

Several years ago, I read a little book called Balcony People by Joyce Heatherley. The concept was simple, and that’s probably why it has stuck with me all these years. Heatherley suggests there are two kinds of people in our lives: “balcony people” and “basement people.” Our “balcony” people are those people in our lives who rise above the average and often negative individuals we experience in our daily lives. These special people notice the best in us and help us feel better about ourselves and the world in which we live. At the other end of the spectrum are the “basement” people. These are the folks who criticize and make us feel less than.

Heatherley offers another way to think about this. There are “affirmers”—people who affirm our value, our worth. They treat us with kindness and respect. On the other hand, there are “evaluators.” While often well-meaning, these folks constantly evaluate our “performance” against their own standards.

Each of us has balcony people—affirmers—in our lives. Each of us likely has basement people—evaluators—in our lives as well. It’s difficult to create a life with only balcony people, but wouldn’t it be nice if we could? At best, we can try to surround ourselves with more balcony people than basement people.

Zacchaeus probably didn’t have a lot of balcony people in his life. Most people saw him as a cheat, a scoundrel, and a traitor. Everyone had written his story, and it wasn’t a story of redemption. But when he encountered Jesus, he met the consummate balcony person. Jesus saw through the negative traits and pejorative type-casting projected onto Zacchaeus.

We know little of what transpired between these two men in Zacchaeus’s house that day, but we know that Zacchaeus was completely transformed by his encounter with one who saw him and believed in him—who saw a “diamond in the rough,” who offered him a chance to rewrite his story. Zacchaeus was able to lift himself physically into the tree to see Jesus; Jesus, upon seeing Zacchaeus, was able to lift him socially, emotionally, even spiritually. That’s the power of a balcony person! That’s the power of someone willing to help you rewrite your story.

Who are your “balcony” people? Who are the people who help you respect and believe in your own value as a person? Who sees you not just for who you’ve been, but for who you can become?

Let me suggest that your “balcony” people don’t have to be living or currently a part of your life. Your list of “balcony” people might include people from your past like a parent or grandparent, a teacher, a coach, a mentor or friend. And lest you forget, Jesus continues to see and recognize that which is best about you. Jesus sees how amazing you are despite how others may try to drag you down. Jesus is always ready to help you begin again, to rewrite your story.

But if we’re making a list, let us not forget that our list isn’t complete until we recognize that we are called to be a “balcony” person to others. Our list isn’t complete until we name the people we are called to affirm and encourage—and may I suggest that list include those closest to us? It’s easy to be a “balcony” person to people we barely know—so much more difficult with those who live under the same roof.

Whose story do you have the power to rewrite? Your child who’s struggling? Your spouse who’s feeling defeated? Your friend who’s been carrying shame? The person everyone else has written off?

What if you said to them, like that pastor said to my cousin, “I’m in your bleachers”? What if you refused to let their story be defined by their worst moment? What if you saw them the way Jesus saw Zacchaeus—not for who they’ve been, but for who they could become?

I think that this “balcony” concept extends to churches. There are balcony churches and there are basement churches. There are churches that affirm people for who they are without judging people based on some set of criteria. There are churches that specialize in judgment—perhaps like me, you’ve walked away from the “basement” expression of religion.

What I love about this church is that this is a “balcony” church. You are “balcony” people. As followers of Jesus, you model his knack for affirming people, for pointing out the good inherent in every person, for offering people a chance to rewrite their stories. You make me so proud to be your pastor. Not only that, you make me want to grow in my own ability to be a “balcony” person.

The author of Balcony People tells a story about her grandson who became terrified of an unknown sound. A large garbage truck came by the house and screeched to a stop. Her grandson looked up and yelled, “Hug! Hug!” She said the look on his face said, “Hurry! Hurry!” She writes, “I remember reaching down for him and wallpapering his little body to my chest.”

We grown-ups are not so different than that little guy. We may not be scared of noise from a garbage truck, but we each deal with fear on a daily basis. What name does your fear go by these days? A diagnosis? Discouragement? Depression? Addiction? Loneliness? Loss? The weight of a story you can’t seem to escape?

Whatever you’re facing, I hope that maybe I can be a balcony person for you today. Maybe we can be balcony people for each other. Maybe we can wallpaper each other with affirmation and acceptance. This isn’t something new to you—rather an encouragement to keep on being the kind of Christ-followers who can see the potential in those the world has written off, who can help people rewrite their stories.

The simple challenge today is this: be balcony people! Be the people who help others rewrite their stories. Be the ones who see not just who people have been, but who they can become. Be the ones who say, “I’m in your bleachers.”

Because that’s what Jesus does. That’s what Jesus did for Zacchaeus. That’s what Jesus does for us. He sees us up in our trees—hiding, ashamed, defined by our worst moments—and he says, “Come down. I’m coming to your house today. Your story isn’t finished. Let’s begin again.”

So go be a balcony person today! Why wait? Who needs to hear you say, “I’m in your bleachers” today? Your words of affirmation and encouragement might just be the beginning of someone’s beautiful next chapter.

And if you are rewriting your own story, maybe I can be the first to say to you, “I’m in your bleachers.” Because I am.